


But All the Choirs in My Head Sang No

by Nyxelestia



Series: PrEHAS [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Novel Approach, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Donovan Donati - Freeform, Episode Remix, Gen, Homicide, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Justifiable Homicide, Season 5A, Stilinski Family Feels, Teen Wolf s05e05, season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Spoilers for Season 5A, Episode 5: A Novel Approach.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>AU in which Stiles hadn't run after calling 911.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But All the Choirs in My Head Sang No

There was a murder at the school again.

The number of times John had to come to this school as a Sheriff for violent crimes is ridiculous. The number of times he’s had to come here as a father for the sake of his son is ridiculous.

And the number of times he’s had to come here for both…

He could see the looks on everyone’s faces. He didn't even need to ask anyone how bad this will be - but when he got to the library, ducked under the police tape, and saw Donovan’s body, he almost wished he had.

For a brief moment, he froze in the doorway, caught in Donovan’s dead gaze. Cold and lifeless as his eyes were, it still looked like Donovan was accusing him from beyond the grave. Jesus - this kid had anger issues, but once upon a time, he had his heart set on being a cop, being one of them.

His father was a good man, and had been a great cop. Deputy Donati had even been a bit of a role model for John, back in his early days as a rookie on the force. And now…now…

“Sheriff?”

John tore himself away from his staring contest with a dead man (dead _boy_ ) to see Deputy Clark there with a clipboard in one hand and a radio in the other.

“They told me…” John swallowed past the rock in his throat. “Dispatch said Stiles was here.”

Clark looked apologetic and terrified in equal measures as she pointed towards where two deputies were standing still. They were a small human wall frozen in the middle of the buzz of the brutal crime scene.

John barely made out the outlines of a gangly, cowering kid through their legs, and someone else trying and failing to approach him.

“We got a 911 with absolute silence,” Clark said. “We sent out a patrol car to make sure, and…we thought it was just a prank call. But when Carson got here…”

“My son?” John asked, unable to keep his gaze away from Donovan’s body.

“…sitting by the desk, on the floor,” she said, turning to glance over her shoulder towards the huddle in the far side of the crime scene. “Nearly catatonic, moderately injured, and covered in blood - and it doesn’t look like it’s his. Carson and Garcia are trying to block his line of sight to the body, but the EMT still can’t get close to him.”

John shut his eyes, hearing everything she wasn’t saying. “What…what does it…what happened?”

“We still don’t know,” she said. “We’re calling the school staff to try and get access to the security cameras, but based on the evidence, it…it does look like a homicide.”

“That Stiles committed,” John said. He opened his eyes, and Clark nodded.

“But if he did…we all saw Donovan threaten you,” she said. “And while we need a medical examination to confirm, it does look like Stiles has defensive wounds. And the angle of the support beam - it would be impossible for Stiles to do that on purpose. So-”

“So nothing,” John said. Taking a deep breath, he reached up to switch off the radio on his shoulder. Then, he pulled off and pocketed his badge. He wasn’t here as the Sheriff. He was here as a homicide suspect’s father. “This case needs to be investigated properly and without bias, even if it’s my son. _Especially_ since it’s my son.”

“Understood, sir,” she said. “Patel is already planning on taking the lead on this case, since you can’t.” She took a deep breath, trying to fortify herself. “But there is one thing you need to see, because…this may not…it’s not just…”

John frowned. “What?” he implored.

“…this may connect to the other recent homicides,” she said, and gestured for John to follow her as she went to the body. She lead him around the sectioned off space, around the pool of blood and Donovan’s unnervingly upright body, to his other side.

John stopped breathing when he saw Donovan’s hand.

“…are those…?”

It was stupid. He was the one who knew about the supernatural world, he shouldn’t be asking this.

Yet it was still Clark who nodded in confirmation. “Teeth. It looks like it’s connected to the body from the club with the stingers in his arm, and…”

She trailed off, looking down at the ground, and John frowned as he turned to her.

“…I swear, I saw a giant lizard tail the night he escaped,” she murmured, looking up at John hesitantly.

“I believe you,” John said. He remembered Tracy crawling along the ceiling, covered in scales with slitted eyes and a goddamn tail. And to think, everyone said that wasn’t even a full shift for a kanima, that the real thing was even more horrifying.

He regretted letting Scott and Deaton take the body more and more every day.

“I just…I just thought you should know,” she said, looking down at the inhuman hand. After a moment, she added, “We’ll need a DNA test to confirm, but we’re pretty sure that’s Stiles’ blood on the hand…or, uh, in the hand-mouth.”

John flinched at that, because that was a lot of blood covering Donovan’s hand.

This guy was once a kid with bright dreams. He had a temper, but he also had his heart in the right place, before he was victimized by circumstances.

Now…

John turned away, and headed for the huddle of people in the corner.

Behind the two officers guarding Stiles, he could see an EMT crouched two feet away from Stiles, who was sprawled on the floor against the desk. Stiles was staring in the direction of the body, despite the fact he couldn’t see it past Carson and Garcia’s shared bulks. And his eyes…they looked like Stiles was caught in something only he could see, a nightmare of his own imagining.

John knew that look. He knew it all too well.

(He still had nightmares of the explosion in his office, of shadowy fox demons and mental hospitals, of looking into his baby boy’s eyes and seeing a monster looking back.)

There was so much blood. Bloody hand prints on the floor and the bottom edge of the desk, matching the blood that was literally on Stiles’ hands. Blood streaked along the desk, in line with the blood soaking Stiles’ shoulder. Blood down the side of Stiles’ face, dripping from a gash on his head and onto his shirt. The harsh blots of color did nothing to hide the bruises blooming along Stiles’ neck, face, and head.

Too much blood.

“Sheriff,” the EMT greeted. John vaguely recognized her, but had to read her badge, _Walker_ , to get her name. “He isn’t letting anyone near him, but - that looks like a pretty nasty head wound, and we don’t know what’s wrong with his shoulder. He needs attention, ASAP.”

Stiles didn’t react at all to them talking about him. John nodded, before turning to Carson, tapping his shoulder to get his attention since both deputies were facing the other way - trying to give Stiles a measure of privacy.

“What did he say?” John asked.

Carson looked even grimmer than before.

“He hasn’t said a word all night,” Carson said. “Not even on the phone call - we came out here to make sure it wasn’t a prank call or an accidental dial, and we found this.” He swallowed. “He’s been completely silent all night, and catatonic since we got here.”

John nodded again, for lack of any other response to give, and turned his attention back to Stiles and Walker.

“I know you can’t leave completely without risking chain of custody,” John said “But can you give us a minute? Just…back away a little.”

Walker nodded, backing away while worriedly watching Stiles’ head wound, and his face. Likely keeping an eye out for any worsening symptoms of trauma.

Well, neurological trauma, anyway. Stiles already showed undeniable evidence of just about every other kind of trauma possible.

John knelt down by his son, right in his line of sight. “Stiles?”

Stiles flinched, and then focused in on John. He opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out.

Taking a chance, John reached out for his son. But as soon as his fingers brushed Stiles’ ankle, his boy whimpered and jerked away, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head frantically. Stiles reached up and gripped his hair so tightly that John winced in sympathy from how much that had to hurt.

Stiles eventually stilled again, lifting his head to stare at John, then try to look past him.

Towards Donovan - again. Christ.

“Stiles,” John said, and that got his son’s gaze back on him. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Stiles swallowed, then jerked his head forward in a single nod.

“Can you stand?” John asked. Stiles looked down at his body, and immediately turned away in revulsion as he caught sight of all the blood. John blew out a breath. “Okay, c’mon, let’s get you standing up. Stiles?”

Stiles kept looking away from everyone and everything, shivering and not moving a muscle. John knew that look, painfully so - this was Stiles trying to sink into himself and get away from the rest of the world.

He hated how familiar he was with Stiles trying to disassociate.

“Stiles?” John said. Still no response - but John knew damn well that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. “Stiles, Ms. Walker is going to come closer, to take a look at your injuries. Okay?”

Stiles shook his head, bringing his knees up and burying his face in them.

For a brief moment, John was blindsided by the memories of Stiles after Claudia attacked him - how he hid his face and refused to let John take a look at him and take care of him. He tried to withdraw into himself, before abruptly breaking down on John.

Stiles had been the same after the nogitsune, too - terrified of his own reflection, let alone letting anyone else see his face.

His baby boy had spent a lot of his life scared of letting people see him. Most of the time, it was metaphorical - using carefully constructed chattering and body language to misdirect people, to make people think he was so much more open than he really was. But sometimes, it became literal, and it broke John’s heart every time.

“Stiles,” John murmured. “We’ll wait here all night if we have to, but I don’t think you want that. Let her treat you, and let’s get you to the hospital. Okay?”

For several moments, there was still no response. Then just as John was thinking of stepping back and letting them sedate Stiles, his boy nodded.

John smiled as encouragingly as he could manage. “Ms. Walker and Deputies Carson and Garcia are going to help you out,” he said.

He could see Stiles swallow, then nod. With another hopefully-encouraging smile, John stepped back and let the other three step forward, Walker first and the Deputies behind her. They were careful not to crowd Stiles.

Walker put Stiles through basic checks, okayed movement, and then stepped back to let Carson get a hand under each of Stiles’ arms to lift him up. Carson turned him away so that he and Garcia could each get one of Stiles’ arms over their shoulders. They stabilized him - and kept him from trying to look at Donovan’s body again - with firm arms around his waist, and hustled him out of the library as fast as they could move.

Walker trailed out after them, and taking a deep breath, John turned around to look at Donovan’s body one last time.

John remembered the first time he had ever seen a dead body on duty. He’d made it through crime scene security, witness statements, and evidence collection without any problems. Then as soon as he’d made it back to the station, he’d made a beeline for the bathroom and spent a solid ten minutes shaking right out of his skin and doing his best not to vomit.

When he’d come out, Deputy Donati had held out a cup of coffee for him, patted his shoulder, and assured him he’d get used to it.

John hated how right he was.

Taking a deep breath, John said, “I’m so sorry,” to a child who would never hear him again. Then he turned and made his way out of the library and to the collection of city service vehicles outside, where his own child still needed him.

More than John had realized. He was still just inside the school hallway when he heard the sound of Stiles struggling and screaming.

Breaking into a run, John got outside just in time to see Carson holding onto Stiles’s shoulders as the boy tried to scramble off of the gurney he was on. Garcia was holding Stiles’ legs, bewildered, as Walker threw something down into the ambulance and grabbed something else.

“Stiles!” John called out, jogging to the huddle of people. Stiles didn’t hear him, and a moment later, Walker jabbed a needle into him. Stiles didn’t hear anyone else as he slumped over, unconscious.

“What happened?!” John demanded, slowing as he reached them.

Carson leaned against the lip of the ambulance. Walker and another EMT manhandled Stiles more firmly onto the gurney, then loaded him inside.

“Walker tried to offer Stiles a painkiller, since he kept flinching when his shoulder moved,” Garcia answered. “Stiles…freaked out.”

John swallowed as he realized why. “Injection?”

Blinking, Garcia nodded. “He’s afraid of needles? I didn’t know that.”

“He’s afraid of being injected with things, not the needles themselves,” John said absently, eyes locked on Stiles right up until the doors closed.

Carson snorted. “I would be, too, after that mess at Eichen House.”

John shut his eyes at the sharp reminder of just what his boy’s already been through before tonight.

“Sheriff?” Garcia asked. He took a deep breath and said, “Someone has to accompany you to the hospital.”

John nodded, not able to speak. Instead, he handed over the keys to the department car he’d come in, and turned away from the school as the ambulance started driving away.

He wasn’t the Sheriff anymore, not tonight. Right now, he needed to go be a dad.


End file.
